


apprentice

by memgril



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, NOT an established relationship, Severus Snape Lives, Strong Hermione Granger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 22:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21005330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memgril/pseuds/memgril
Summary: The man was unreadable on a good day, but she had a sinking feeling he was being painfully, stupidly obvious for her sake.This wasn’t going to be easy.“As I said when I first got here: I want to be your apprentice.”





	apprentice

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been reading a frustrating amount of fanfiction with a pathetically weak hermione and a wildly OOC severus.

“Miss Granger. Are you under the influence?”

Hermione’s eyes froze. “No, sir, I’m not,” she said stiffly. “And I would appreciate if you refrained from making comments of that nature towards me.”

He leaned back.

“Then, do tell, why would _you_ willingly seek _me _out? What, in Merlin’s name, did you think would happen?”

Yikes. The man was unreadable on a good day, but she had a sinking feeling he was being painfully, stupidly obvious for her sake.

This wasn’t going to be easy.

“As I said when I first got here: I want to be your apprentice.”

She wasn’t planning on leaving without a Master. It didn’t matter how long it took; she’ll stay until he permanently kicked her out.

When he does accept, she’ll be the best goddamn apprentice _ever_. No matter what anyone said. End of story. Hermione knew she was ambitious and willing to put up with hell, and most importantly, she was _bright_. Goodbye, textbook regurgitation and incessant nagging and hello, ruthless and innovative pioneer Hermione.

Merlin help those who’ll try and stop her.

(Oh, the _Muggleborn_? Again?)

She’ll grab the world by the balls and _force _it to acknowledge her existence— the _brightest witch of her age_. And it’ll all start with this apprenticeship.

Snape didn’t see any of that.

He looked at her for a touch too long and there was just something in the tightly steepled hands and in the way this jaw clenched and mouth tightened that screamed _Miss Granger, you are absolutely insufferable and I can’t wait to kill you. _Annoyed, incredulous, and very, very angry.

And it wasn’t going to faze her.

She was Gryffindor. She will stand her ground. She will fight. It was in her nature, mind, body, soul, a part of her like her feverishly beating heart and her fast, shallow breaths.

Let him be angry at her. Let him try and stop her.

She damn well wasn’t going to back down because Snape was being Snape.

She will win.

“Don’t make me laugh,” he replied. It was toneless, colourless; completely unamused. “You honestly believe that you could just… force your way through? That _I _would bow to your every whim because you are Hermione Ganger, War Hero?”

Hermione gritted her teeth. “Professor-“

“Headmaster.”

Her eye twitched. “Headmaster. It’s nothing of that sort. At all. I believe this arrangement will be mutually beneficial. I know you aren’t teaching Potions anymore, but…” she trailed off. Was it wise to try and suck up to him? Should she try acting a bit more Slytherin- no. She was Gryffindor. She would not change her methods. No underhanded tactics. She had to be honest. “You’re my only option.”

He opened his mouth-

“The only option I would accept,” she quickly clarified. “I know I can get whatever I want but I’d reject everyone. They’re all just…”

His lips pursed; hey, that counted as a win, didn’t it? He hadn’t tried to throw her out yet. “Miss Granger. It would be in your best interest to not try and, ah, butter me up. I am fully aware of my worth. And of what the public perceives as yours.”

Hermione’s ramrod posture straightened even more.

He was being insufferable on purpose, trying to drive her up the wall, trying to get a reaction out of her…. breathe, Hermione. It’s all intentional. Breathe. This wasn’t going to work if she started screaming at him. 

And so, she spoke, “Regardless,” it was blessedly steady, and she elegantly overlooked the way his hands became strongly clenched, “can you give me any legitimate reason why you can’t, sir?”

She’ll be insufferable if she had to. 

“You mean,” he snarked right back, “how, in my decades of being a Potions Master of my caliber, I have never taken an apprentice?”

Why couldn’t he understand that things change? That things were _allowed _to change? This was a whole new world, a whole new oyster at her fingertips that Hermione— and him, really, should _not_ waste any time before cracking. 

“But—"

“Miss Granger. Be quiet and let me continue.”

This is what you’re signing up for, Hermione. A broody, irritating, and, quite frankly, dangerous Potions Master, but all that doesn’t matter; he was worth it. He was worth it, he was worth it, he was worth it…

“I’m _not_ about to change my entire way of life just because some foolish girl wanted something from me,” he said, and Hermione forced her hands under her thighs. He _couldn_’_t_ get that power over her, not anymore, not ever after her worries expanded past essays and assignments and NEWTs. She was going to stand up straight and look him in the eyes and calmly talk back, goddamnit, not fidget like a student being scolded. 

He just eyed her.

“I’ve never taken an apprentice and I never will. I am already responsible for hundreds of children,” leaning forward, Snape looked down at her, “and none of you dunderheads have shown any affinity or skill in my field.” 

He paused, observing her, _I’m baiting you, Granger, rise to it_, but there was no twitching or nervous fidgeting. Her eyes met his, iron striking steel, fire meeting ice, and she waited.

She _needed_ this.

“Need I remind you that I am a Death Eater?” he said, slow, leaning back into his chair. “The War may be over but we aren’t out of the woods yet.”

Just-

There was so much _wrong_ with that.

Hermione couldn’t, _couldn_’_t _help herself, “Surely having me as an apprentice would clear your name? Having me means connections,” she said quickly, “Names. I could get you funding, partnerships, sponsorships,” oh, Merlin, why couldn’t she _stop_, “endorsements, things to help the school and other projects of yours…”

Snape shot up from his seat.

“Miss Granger,” he hissed, eyes narrowed and arms behind his back, “I told you to be quiet yet you keep on babbling about things that _do not concern me_. The world does not revolve around you!”

She violently flinched away from him, wooden armrests giving a slight crack-

Oh, fuck.

That was absolutely _not _supposed to happen.

It was so quick, so fast that she wasn’t quite sure it even happened-

_Why did she do that? _

Hermione had mastered Moody’s random shouts of _constant vigilance_. She’d successfully stood up to his _Imperio_ attacks, and hell, she’d even been _Crucio_’d by Death Eaters and still she pushed through with barely a tremor. Could someone be so constantly alert of their surroundings yet show no outward signs of their paranoia? At this point, Hermione was almost infamous for that. She knew her weaknesses— height, Defense, failure, among countless others— and actively tried to make up for them.

And yet.

Snape didn’t have to yell at her; his voice had remained remarkably stable, nary an octave louder, and she— _Hermione Granger_—flinched.

Could it really just be a deeply rooted instinct?

(_no_, whispered a voice)

Maybe he didn’t—

Oh, who was she kidding?

He’d noticed.

(She was Gryffindor, goddamnit)

Why didn’t he raise his voice? Ginny told her that he would’ve, that, when Hermione eventually made him angry enough, he’ll snap and raise hell. 

Snape was very, very well known for his terror in classes for either teaching extremes. Naturally, the sheer number of distressed students was a cause for concern, but it could be argued that it was just the nature of teaching Potions— one had to have an _extremely _tight handle over their students. The general recommended number of pupils in a class was barely in the double digits, and Hogwarts, for all its prestige, didn’t have that luxury.

But that didn’t answer the question.

Hermione snuck a look at him.

It didn’t look like she was getting that apprenticeship anytime soon.

Even with his back turned to her, hands clasped around his wand, Hermione saw it— his Occlumency, his mask—more plainly than ever. He’d completely shut down, the iceberg in the North Pole, frigid and unyielding.

All because of her flinch.

_Why did he react so aggressively? _

Neither made a sound.

_(why did she?)_

She was Gryffindor.

One second, two, three…

“I know it doesn’t revolve around me,” she tentatively whispered, forcing her head up to look in his general direction, “Headmaster, the fact that you’re a Death Eater doesn’t bother me.”

“Get out, Miss Granger, before I take matters into my own hands.” Pure. Steel. 

//

He visited her in her room.

“Miss Granger,” he said. 

“Headmaster Snape,” she croaked back.

Was she Gryffindor if she wanted to hide under the covers? If she could somehow muster the strength to lift her eyes away from where her hands were twitching at her side?

She didn’t move.

He stayed until a mediwitch kicked him out.

//

“One stipulation,” he suddenly spoke.

Hermione jerked up, fingers splaying for her wand, heart hammering-

Right. She was at St. Mungo’s.

She turned her head towards his lounging form, her eyes closed shut and hands tightly clenched. “I apologize, Headmaster. I wasn’t aware I dozed off,” she said. She was calm. Peace. She was enveloped in a while, fluffy cloud, looking at the winking stars under the silent blanket of night. She was the algae and seaweed lazily moving back and forth in the calm sea; it’s okay, it’s just Snape, he’s not going to hurt you…

“I must partially take the blame, Miss Granger,” he said, a frozen figure in the Antarctic, stiff and as cold as the first time she spoke to him, “I did not realize you were asleep.”

What?

_What?_

Hermione pinched herself.

Again.

Her strength was barely what it was before, but it was enough for her to reach the one unmistakable, undeniable _dreaded _conclusion– she wasn’t dreaming.

_Did Snape just apologize?_

“I…uh…”

“Do not make me repeat it, Miss Granger.”

Hermione cleared her throat. “What did you say before, sir?” Her voice was a raspy, coarse sandpaper, but who could blame her? What Snape said… well, it was rarer than Thursday the twelfth, that’s for sure.

She wasn’t completely overreacting over a half-hearted apology, she firmly told herself. She was overreacting because Snape was _Snape_. Snape doesn’t apologize. Snape doesn’t visit her for hours every day. Snape doesn’t leave Potions texts next to her bedside after visiting hours were up.

“I will agree to your terms regarding the apprenticeship,” Snape was saying, and she could barely hear him over her heart beat, “but on one condition.”

Oh, dear Merlin. Dear Morgana. Dear Hecate. Dear Nimue. Dear God.

Was this real life?

Did Headmaster- no, _Potions Master _Severus Snape just offer her an intensive, academically rigorous four years under his, and _only_ his, tutelage? Snape, one of the most wanted potioneers in the world?

Merlin…she actually did it…did she die and go to Heaven?

Snape loudly cleared his throat. Oh, right.

“What’s the condition?” She hurried to say. It was borderline ridiculous, really; an entire apprenticeship based on one tiny request? Surely it couldn’t be _that_ bad. Short of giving her firstborn, she couldn’t think of _anything_ that she wouldn’t give; she’d give him the universe, goddamnit, why couldn’t he _hurry up_ and stop hesitating-

A mediwitch burst into the room.

“Miss Granger! Everything alright?” He said, peppy, and shit, she flinched _again_, didn’t she? Fuck, hopefully Snape didn’t notice and freak out…

Hermione tried to calmly nod at the mediwitch.

She sneaked a look at Snape and _thank all the gods in the world_— he wasn’t looking at her.

“Your heart rate spiked. Twice, apparently,” the mediwitch was saying, brow wrinkling in an oddly familiar manner; what was his name again? Mitchell? Michael? Mallen? “and, ah, the first time didn’t trigger the ward. You sure you’re doing okay, Miss?” 

Hermione couldn’t help but pity the young man. His face was scrunched in concern, but the nervous wringing of his hands gave him away— he was a recent graduate.

It was out of concern and not Lockheartian arrogance that she asked herself _who put him in charge of Hermione Granger?_

She wasn’t blind. Whether she liked it or not, people treated her differently.

“I’m doing perfect,” she told him. It was almost amusing, really, how she managed to be so calm when Snape was literally two feet away and staring straight into her soul like it had an answer different than 42.

Just breathe.

The mediwitch briefly looked hesitant before turning to Snape. “Sir, I must tell you to not stress the patient too much. It could counteract with her treatment. Dosages must be evenly distributed.”

Snape stood up.

“I’m a Potions Master, _mediwitch_,” he spat, silently and smoothly gliding in front of the mediwitch who had suddenly shrunk twenty inches and was caught stealing from the cookie jar, “I recommend you choose your next words carefully.”

“Uh, well, Miss Granger seems to be alright so I’ll just be going…”

He was gone before Hermione could blink.

“What’s this condition, Headmaster?”

//

She wasn’t Gryffindor.

Was there anything Gryffindor, anything brave and powerful about choking down sobs and hastily wiping away tears in front of an insufferable, infuriating, _genius and successful_ Potions Master? The most wanted Potions Master in the world, to boot, one she was _so close_ to getting an apprenticeship with?

No, there clearly wasn’t.

She was _so, so _close…

Could she do it?

The first answer that came to her mind was perhaps too obvious.

No. She couldn’t.

“Well, Miss Granger? I don’t have all day.”

Sod him.

“Why do you want to know so badly?” She asked, ignoring how shaky and raspy and so stupidly _vulnerable_ it sounded.

“You have nobody, Miss Granger. Neither Mr Potter nor any of the Weasleys visited you during your hospital stay. Neither has anyone else,” he said. She didn’t know how anyone could be so flippant about staying something as pathetic as….that. 

“All due respect, Headmaster,” she slowly replied, “but I’m quite aware of that. I also know you don’t care about me, sir. You don’t have any obligation to visit.”

It was too easy to be bitter. Poor Hermione stuck in the hospital with nobody to visit her. No family, no friends, nobody. Just her and her serious injuries from the bastards that attacked her.

“Granger. Use your blasted brain. Could you give me any reason why I’d stay Headmaster if I didn’t care about students?” 

Painfully, stupidly obvious.

“I’m not a student, sir. I’m a fully-grown woman.” 

“Going by that logic, it should be obvious that grown women don’t mope. Granger, you’re moping. Wallowing.”

She should’ve told him to get the fuck out.

How dare he come in, knowing that she couldn’t kick him out, and start insulting her? Her, who had fairly recently woken from a month-long coma and was barley able to lift her arms? And he dared call her _weak_? _Oh, I’m sorry for ‘wallowing’ when I haven’t seen my parents in years and my friends abandoned me and I gradually spiralled down because I don’t have a support system and because of all that dumb systemic blood prejudice… _

“Well?” Was he mocking her now?

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep, deep breath. Let him laugh.

Seriously, though, damn that fucker. He only wanted to get a reaction out of her; she had been foolish to even think for a second that he felt anything other than apathy or pity.

“Get out,” she said, gentle, soft, a dandelion slow dancing in the grass. “Get out and never come back, Snape.” Her eyes stayed closed. Fuck the apprenticeship. She’d find someone else. This wasn’t worth it.

“And your apprenticeship?”

She didn’t grace him with a reply.


End file.
